Fiestas Patrias

Like I said, it was a busy week. In addition to my international travels, Chile celebrated its independence--lucky number 198 (if my math is right)--on September 18th. I always knew that Chileans are very proud of their country, their heritage, and their future, but watching the country and the people change over the course of a few days is rather remarkable.

While I'm at it, I'd just like to brag about Chile for a second. In my International Trade class, we talked about Chile's economics--you can skip over this paragraph if econ doesn't interest you like it does me. I'm a business major. That's just the way it is. Anyway, Chile's government is just so much smarter than our government! Despite the rampant partisanship, the ruling party has come to find an odd equilibrium. The party is called the "concertacion," and it's not just one party. It is a group of men and women from multiple parties who formed this new "party" to match the needs and desires of the Chilean people. They've only been in power for one term, which has had its ups and downs as expected. However, they still get along and govern wisely. With a socialist president paired with liberal and conservative ministers, they have to come to accords to get anything done. It's a fantastic, unofficial checks and balances system. Economically, Chile is a very intelligent country as well. I won't get into the details of neo-liberalism--ask me later if you're curious--but it involves heavy privatization of services and a focus on free trade. Additionally, the government has made it a requirement to save 1 to 1.5% of the country's product each year. We're talking about millions of dollars put into investments and liquid assets to protect the country in the case of a crisis. It forces the government to operate under a specified budget and creates a rainy day fund for a country that is vulnerable to international crisis because of its trade agreements. It's just very well thought out and impressively responsible. (My professor also loves to give investing advice, so if you're looking to invest well internationally, check out Peru, Chile, or Uruguay.)

Back to fiestas patrias. So Chile is a proud country. In fact, they're so proud that they celebrate their independence for an entire week. Everything changes after the 11th--I find that that that particular day is like a tantrum from a toddler; the country just needs to get all of the bad juices out in order to come together for the celebration. Rich and poor, conservative and liberal, and everyone in between comes together for this week. Chilean flags sprout from each and every house, office building, and condo tower. And then the parties begin.

Fondas--big tents or buildings--are built in public parks to hold shows, dancing, food, etc. People begin to dance the "cueca," the national dance, in clubs and bars. "Chicha"--kind of like spiked apple juice--is served everywhere. Seriously, the entire country shifts focus onto the traditional customs.

On the 18th, it's very similar to the 4th of July. Families gather together to celebrate, drink wine, and have an "asado" or barbecue. Just like in the US, the men gather outside to drink, talk (football a.k.a. soccer is usually a main topic of conversation), and watch the grill and the women gather inside to drink and talk (I don't know about what). In my homestay, friends and family gathered around 1. I think everyone was pretty well drunk by 3, and we ate at 4. Mary made a great drink with white wine and strawberries called "poncha," which I imagine is somewhat similar to Spanish sangria and I'm sure it's just as powerful, if not more. I recommend it. You can see Arturo here, hard at work at the grill. He's a good guy.

That night, I went to a fonda with some of my friends to see what it was like. I guess it's kind of similar to a state fair, without the smelly animals and creepy carnies. Everyone wanders through the artisan stands or gathers at the dance floor or sits and talks. It's a very relaxed atmosphere and everyone in Santiago seemed far more animated than usual.

On Friday, there's the military parade. What better way to unite than to marvel at the stuff your country has to blow other stuff up? Of course, it means more than that (the purpose is a tribute to those in the armed forces who have died for Chile), but thousands of people gather, drink beer, and cheer whenever jets fly over. It almost reminded me of major sporting events when they do a flyover. Except bigger!

So here are some photos. The one of me in the visor was not my doing. My friend, Sara, and I are planning on going to Patagonia together, but she got worried that I was going to get sunburned while we watched the parade. So she bought me this 20 cent visor. Humiliation ensued. But at least I didn't get sunburned. And I least I had a beer. I guess it wasn't all that bad.

On our way back, we happened to stumble across La Presidenta herself (Michelle Bachelet), rolling back to the Presidential Palace. If my camera hadn't malfunctioned, I would've gotten a picture of her waving at us. But her back is nice too. Stupid camera...

So that's about it. Viva Chile!

Chao.

Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay

To begin, this was the coolest part of my trip to Argentina . . . and it's not even in Argentina. Colonia is about an hour's ferry ride away on the southwest coast of Uruguay. It was founded in 1690 and is famous for it's Portuguese influence. Basically, it's awesome. Odd though it may sound, I recommend Colonia over any other place I have been so far. Here's why. . .

When we arrived in Buenos Aires, we actually weren't so sure that we could stay busy and happy for all 5 days. What can I say? We have short attention spans. I asked the hostel receptionist if she could recommend anything around Buenos Aires. Colonia was her immediate suggestion. We did some investigating and found out that a ferry was $60 (expensive but worth it) and entering and leaving each country was really easy. My friend Nate wasn't ready to part with his $60, but Cassiel and I decided to go for it.

We had originally planned on going on Saturday, but there was some miscommunication regarding whose alarm would wake everyone up. In the end, no one's alarm did. Oops! So we moved our plans to Monday.

We woke up bright and early at 7:00 to make our way to the harbor. Figuring out the ferry and going through customs was easy enough and off we went. The ferry was more like a plane ride with assigned seats, tray tables, and minimal leg room. No complaints though. We were there by 10:00 and set off. As usual, minimal planning was done beforehand. We embarked into Uruguay with Chilean and Argentinean pesos (but no Uruguayan pesos), no map, and no clue what we were actually going to do in the little town. Open-mindedness or unpreparedness? You be the judge.

We had heard that you could easily and cheaply rent a golf cart to roll around in for the day, so we made that priority #1. We walked up a street with sketchy rental dealerships, and we saw it. It was perfect. A rickety, old dune buggy. Dirty, rusty in spots, beautiful. Cassiel and I looked at each other. We decided to ask the attendant--a portly, chain-smoking Uruguayan--how much for the day. About $40 was his answer. We decided to look a bit more, but how can you put a price on fun? We walked a block before Cassiel turned to me and said, "Let's get it." She had her license, so we returned and after a thoroughly incomplete training session, we were off.

Enjoying our new found freedom, we zoomed around for a few minutes. The fun nearly ended when she began to go onto the freeway. Bad idea. Our top speed--which we obviously had to find in the first few minutes--was a respectable 60 kph, but that was definitely not freeway speed. After some frantic navigating, we began to head through the newer areas of Colonia. We spotted a tourist center and nearly went down a one way street in the wrong direction--which drew as many honks as a Santiago traffic jam--but arrived safely and found a map of the city.

The old neighborhood (called Barrio Historico) is snuggled up against the coast of the Rio de la Plata on a small peninsula. It's maybe 5 city blocks in total. But it's incredible. Rugged cobblestone streets, vine covered houses, an old lighthouse, quaint cafes, and surprisingly few tourists. To the northwest, there's a strip of beach followed by the wealthier neighborhoods and an American hotel. But this is one of the least disturbed tourist locations I've ever seen. At times, we thought we were the only ones in the town. We rolled around not-so subtly in our loud, popping dune buggy through the streets to get a feel of the town. All of the little shops retain a very Uruguayan feel--something I can't describe except to say it's not Chilean, Argentinean, or anything else I've seen. Everything is handmade, unique, and detailed. Uruguayans may just be that way. Unfortunately, we could only spend a day there. They walk around with their mate (pronounced "mah-tay," it's a dried, hollowed-out gourd) filled with yerba mate--bitter green tea, high in caffeine and tons of vitamins. It's customary to carry the mate with a thermos of hot water wherever you go in Uruguay.

However, back to our day. With a map, we were able to navigate our way through the town. As we rode through a little plaza, three dogs jumped to attention and began to chase us. They nipped at the tires and barked as we rolled past tour groups (who found our predicament hilarious) for at least 3 blocks. However, besides that encounter it's such a sleepy, little town. Nothing opened until 12. We explored a bit before we stopped at a little cafe on a quiet cobblestone street. It was the definition of quaint. And it was cheap. All in all, a fantastic lunch of a sandwich, wine, gelatto (called "helado" in South America), and coffee. This was our table. Quaint, right?

After lunch, we decided to work off some calories by climbing the lighthouse. On the top, we were rewarded with a great panoramic view of the town. Probably the best view you could ever get for the 30 cent entry fee.

We continued to explore, meandering through the streets and stopping as we pleased to ponder centuries-old buildings or look through a little handicraft shop. It was an incredible change from the concrete fortresses of Buenos Aires and Santiago.

Soon enough, the beach was calling to us. We drove the few blocks in our dune buggy--recently deemed "The Whip"--and collapsed on the beach for an hour or more. One of the reasons I suggest Uruguay is the safety. It's totally different from the rest of the cities I've been in. We were reassured by many people and left our bags and coats on the sand and walked a ways in either direction. Trust me, you don't do that anywhere else. I haven't been able to relax like that in a long time.

Time had flown by on our day, so we returned "The Whip" and set off in separate directions to explore alone on foot. I wandered down some random streets and came across this old railroad warehouse and abandoned tracks. I don't know what attracted me to it, but I still think it's just cool and old. Coupled with the vintage, abandoned cars scattered around the town, it seems as if the town just stopped moving long ago. Everything has stayed as it was at a single moment in time. I don't know how else to describe it.

Reluctantly, we boarded the ferry bound for Buenos Aires. I don't mean for it to sound as if I didn't enjoy Buenos Aires, but this little town has a special air about it. I really hope to go back one day. Time will tell.

This is one of my favorite pictures that I've taken so far. I think it adequately captures what Colonia is all about.

Chao.

Buenos Aires

My apologies for the delayed update. It's been a busy week! I'll try to fill you all in on my most recent adventures.


Day 1 - Thursday
Last Thursday, I left for Buenos Aires. It was a rather odd departure. September 11th has a somewhat different significance in Chile: it's the anniversary of the "golpe de estado"--the military coup--that brought Pinochet into power. As has occurred each year since Pinochet's departure, a clash of different people, ideals, and forces comes to a head in Santiago. Although the level of rioting varies from year to year, it always has some common aspects. The universities close; the poor, persecuted, and disenchanted take to the streets; and the police fight back as best they can. According to my host mom, the police represent the system that remains in power--the system that Pinochet instituted that continues to persecute the poorest classes. A year ago, a police officer was killed in a riot near one of my university's campus. I think you get the idea. In any case, it is a day that everyone hopes will pass without incidence.


And I chose this day to fly to Argentina. We flew out around 7:00 at night, and it was odd to fly over the city knowing what was occurring below. The police took special measures this year to avoid a repeat of the past year: more than 500 arrests were made in the days before the 11th and power was cut to some of the most infamous rioting spots. All in all, Santiago looked peaceful as we flew over it, blacked-out neighborhoods and all.


However, it was on to a new adventure. Buenos Aires awaited us. Before I continue, I recommend that no one attempt the following. My friend and I had done little to no planning for our trip besides booking a plane ticket and hostel. We had a little bit of money in Argentinean pesos, our passports, and an understanding that it's not the safest city at the present time. So here we go.

We landed and were immediately presented with 3 options to enter the city (the airport is about 45 minutes outside the city center): a $30 taxi, a $13 private bus, or a 33 cent public bus. In our defense, we are college students and enjoy saving money. Obviously, we chose the public bus. Nate, my friend, was smart enough to print off some directions and the address to our hostel, but we didn't have a map or a clue where we actually were at any given time. However, we headed to the bus stop prepared for our hour and a half ride to get to the hostel. As I began to climb the bus steps, an older man motioned to me and pointed at the Argentinean bill I had in my hand. "Only coins," he said in Spanish. Fine, we thought. We'll just head into the airport and exchange a small bill. Wrong. Another piece of valuable information to know would have been that Argentina is currently in the middle of a coin shortage. That is, no one has very many coins and even less people want to share them.

Two hours later, we finally found a sympathetic vendor who gave us some coins after we bought a pack of gum. He was the last in the line of 15 or more kiosks, cafes, banks, and pedestrians. I've never wanted to hug a man more.

Armed with our exact change for the bus, we headed out. Entering the city was what has become commonplace in South America: first, you must travel through the rich outer suburbs followed by the poor projects and slums before you can enter the city center. Nate and I sat patiently before I went to ask the driver if he could tell us when we were near Calle Paraguay--our street. Immediately after I asked him, I became concerned. He looked at me sideways and said this bus doesn't cross Calle Paraguay. It actually doesn't really go near it. He rattled off some other bus numbers, but that wasn't going to help us much given our lack of coins.

We were faced with a decision. We could get off the bus at a random stop and grab a taxi or we could stay on the bus and peer out the window hoping to catch sight of our street. In hindsight, option 1 would have been the far better choice. However, we chose to stick it out. Maybe he was wrong.

Well, he was right. We motored through the city at 1am with no sight of Calle Paraguay. Finally, Nate and I decided to get off at the next stop. We just wanted a cab. Unfortunately, our decision was made for us. The bus headed under an overpass to a dark, dilapidated area surrounded by barbed wire and what appeared to be a car impound. The driver stopped and said, "End of the line. Everyone out." Nate and I looked at each other, said nothing, and got off the bus.

We began to walk. No time for rational thinking, except the common goal of making it to the well-lit, busy street a few blocks ahead of us. We had nearly reached it when a fight broke out between 5 men in front of us. Sharp right turn. Head for the gas station another block ahead. The fighting men began to follow us. We both swore under our breath, and Nate began to laugh. I was not pleased. However, we made it to the gas station and asked for directions. The attendant was kind but frustratingly amused with our predicament. He pointed north and said, "Muchas cuadras. No se cuantas." (Many blocks. I don't even know how many.)

Fast forward a half hour. We had found a cab, asked tentatively if the driver knew where we were going, and made it to the hostel a few kilometers later. We checked in and collapsed into our beds at 2am. We had landed a little before 10.

So that was the low point. After that, there was really nowhere to go but up. We woke up around 10 the following morning to find that our friend, Cassiel, had arrived earlier in the night and promptly had her credit card, ID, and camera stolen. Seriously, it was just a cursed night. Still, we were going to have a good trip. We were determined.

Day 2 - Friday
We decided to do the super touristy thing today. We walked from our neighborhood in the north of the city to the city center, which was about 30 blocks south. There we headed to Recoleta--the famous cemetery that houses past presidents, generals, nobles, and Evita Peron (aka "Don't cry for me Argentina"). I don't know how to explain it, but this cemetery was incredible. Many of the tombs seemed to be mini-cathedrals, others had frescoes on the ceilings, and some had a Greek monument feel to them. We wandered for a few hours, reading the epitaphs and coming across military heroes and the nobility of generations past. I began to wonder at the irony, almost the justice, of some of the tombs that had fallen into disarray and decay. Even with all of the money the people had invested, their tombs still succumb to time. Their families had either left or died away, and now there's no one to care for the monument. I found it to be a peculiar justice and a pity at the same time.

From there, we headed on to an incredible lunch at a little cafe. I would never complain about the food in Santiago, but Argentina has a serious advantage in this category. We moved on, at a much slower pace than before, to the City Center. We came across the Congreso Nacional and an impressive fountain in the center of the plaza in front of it. We noticed that there was a demonstration going on in front of the Congress, so we headed over to investigate. We soon realized that they were Bolivian demonstrators, but couldn't hear what was being said. Later, we learned the demonstration later moved in front of the American embassy and turned into a bit more of a protest. (A good video of the situation in Bolivia: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/7609614.stm)


We continued down the main street, heading towards Plaza de Mayo and la Casa Rosada--the Argentinean presidential palace. Although impressive, it was a stark contrast to what we're used to in Santiago. Instead of ceremonial police and open doors into the courtyard of the Chilean presidential palace, we were faced with heavily-armed riot police and a 10 foot high fence. After we were satisfied, we took the Metro--called the Subte--back to our hostel. We relaxed for the night and headed to a chill bar for dinner.

Day 3 - Saturday
We attempted to wake up early, but it just didn't happen. We got moving around 11 and decided to go to the Boca district. At one time, it was similar to Little Italy in New York, where the new Italian immigrants gathered to live and work. Since then, it has degraded to the point of being a place no one goes at night. However, during the day, it is a hot-spot for activity--especially for tourists. We took the Metro and walked through a vendor fair in a little park on the way before continuing into La Boca. We went to the famous soccer stadium of Boca Juniors--the most famous Argentinean soccer team--and found an odd little restaurant immediately across the street.


It was called Don Carlito, and we decided to try it out. We walked in, sat down, and our waiter asked if we knew the place. No, we answered. And he motioned for another man to come over. The new man asked if we spoke Spanish, then introduced himself as Carlito. He was kind of intense and spoke very abruptly. After talking with us a little, he said in broken English, "Ok, you eat what I want you to eat. That's how this works." We nodded. What followed was 8 courses of empanadas, pizza, meats, salads, and some of the most incredible desserts I've ever had. If you ever go to Buenos Aires, you need to go to this restaurant.

We waddled out 2 hours later and sleepily made our way to Caminito--the center of tourist activity. It used to be the red light district, but has been converted into an area for over-priced tango shows and vendors. We spent a little time walking past the brightly colored houses and buildings and avoiding the numerous people trying to attract us into their restaurants before we headed back.

That night, we decided to head out to a club. I think it's best if I leave Argentinean night life to your imagination. It was fun and I didn't do anything illegal.

Day 4 - Sunday

No attempt to wake up early was made, so we all woke up at 2. The day's plan was to go to the Mercado San Telmo--a famous antique market in the south of the city. It's filled with wonderfully eccentric people and even more eccentric things to buy. We had lunch in a nice little cafe that over-looked a man that had an odd similarity to Kurt Vonnegut across from a young guy having lunch with his dog in the chair next to him. The guy and dog shared a meal while the older man smoked his pipe and contemplated them. I'm telling you, eccentric.


The market was awesome though. I found a great CD from a jazz duo playing on the street which I think everyone should listen to when I'm back, along with some other random items. We deemed the Mercado a success and headed back to the hostel. There were no activities that night, and we headed to sleep early.

Day 5 - Monday
Uruguay! I'll have to make a separate post for this. It would take too long for this already lengthy post.

Day 6 - Tuesday
This was our day to do anything that we had forgotten to do. I headed to the Obelisco and Plaza de la Republica--like the Times Square of Buenos Aires. Soon after, Nate and I met at a restaurant called "Siga la Vaca"--Follow the Cow--to try Argentinean parrilla (barbecue). It's buffet style, so you go up to the parrilla (grill) and ask for a certain cut of meat. You gorge and repeat. Although I didn't think it was possible, I'm quite sure Nate and I got drunk on meat. We left an hour and a half later and had trouble walking. Clogged arteries and all, I made my way back to the hostel and met up with my friend from Santa Clara one last time before I left.

Learning from our previous mistake, we took a cab directly from the hostel. A few hours later, I found myself safely back in Santiago.

Despite the rough first night, I rate the trip a complete success and highly recommend Buenos Aires if you ever have the chance. I'll happily return and translate for anyone interested.

Chao.